The Sleepwalker
by LemonyPickett
Summary: Hogwarts, five years after the Battle of Hogwarts and the end of the war. Hermione and Draco are both professors now, both lonely but leading relatively normal lives. And then, a mysterious mask and a sleepwalking dream, and everything changes for both of them. Tags: Dramione, Hogwarts, EWE
1. Chapter 1: The Professor and Her Pride

Chapter 1: The Professor and Her Pride

The thought had been nagging at her that she had never really thanked him properly. She'd been shell-shocked in the moments after it happened. She remembered opening her eyes to see a concerned face swimming in the dark in front of hers and then, as she got her bearings, registering where she was and whose eyes, piercing grey, were boring into her own.

She'd panicked then, feeling vulnerable, disoriented, and somehow unable to command the use of her voice. As she tried to scramble up, full consciousness coming back in a rush, it suddenly occurred to her what he might have witnessed-what he might have heard from her very lips just moments before. There was no way to be sure, but those knowing grey eyes seemed to confirm her suspicions.

The shame of it had flooded her veins suddenly, thick and hot like lava, and it became unbearable to be in his company a moment longer. That was when she ran, or tried to, tripping over her nightgown as she stumbled towards the heavy wooden door on the other side of the tower and wrenched it open.

"Hermione!" he had called after her, but she couldn't stop now. She ran for it, in the dark, with only the flickering lanterns along the stone walls to light her way, all the way back to the large painting of Minerva, Roman goddess of war, that marked the entrance to her office. Gasping for breath, she whispered, " _Auribus teneo lupum_." The goddess remained snoozing in her marble solium, but the painting itself swung forward and Hermione climbed gratefully through it into her cozy apartments.

Only later had it occurred to her to be grateful to him. After all, he had probably saved her life.

It had been a week now, and she'd managed to avoid him by spending three days cooped up in her apartments on sick leave and the rest of the week taking refuge in the library between lessons. Of course, if he'd wanted to find her, that would be the first place he'd think to look, she mused, but he had been merciful enough to let her have her space.

It was Friday evening now, and she was curled up in a cozy reading chair in front of the large, gothic window in her office, trying to grade essays but alternately distracted between the claps of thunder outside and her own internal tempest of mortification and confusion. She didn't know what exactly he'd witnessed-or worse, what he might be thinking he'd witnessed-and not knowing was not a feeling she was accustomed to. She sighed and rested her chin on her palm, staring out at the dark and stormy grounds and trying to make out Hagrid's hut through the swirling rain.

Of course, Hagrid-the one constant presence she could rely on at Hogwarts. If it wasn't positively monsooning outside she'd go and see him now. She mentally pinched herself for not thinking of it sooner. If anyone could calm her racing mind, bring her back to simpler days, it would be Hagrid. They had spend many an afternoon over the past few years sitting by his fire, reminiscing about the old days and playfully abusing Ron and Harry, who were both busy with their work and not there to defend themselves. It had always made her feel better.

Ron was in Egypt at present. She made a mental note to respond to his last letter and then amused herself a moment imagining six foot tall, pale, freckly, ginger Ronald amongst the Egyptians and thinking he must stand out more for his looks than for his poor grasp of muggle dress. Then again, she doubted he met many muggles while on the job. His team worked in secrecy, using non-invasive magical techniques to excavate secrets of the great witches and wizards who once inhabited the banks of the Nile. Ron had never been much of a student or a scholar, but in this more hands-on magical archaeological study he seemed to have found his bliss.

Harry, meanwhile, was perfectly capable of blending in with the muggle world when necessary, having been brought up by his muggle aunt and uncle, but for him it was very rarely necessary, except the one time recently when he had traveled to 10 Downing to meet with the new muggle prime minister. Harry had thought it best to don a suit and tie rather than wizard robes for the occasion, as a courtesy to the sensibilities of the "other minister." The Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, had insisted that Harry should be the first point of contact with the muggle government, as he "spoke muggle" and, in his role as Head Auror, was best suited to provide security briefings, which was of course the primary reason for their alerting the muggle prime minister to the existence of the magical world at all.

It had been years since there had been anything as dangerous as Voldemort and his Death Eaters, but dark magic had a way of turning up unexpectedly, if only to give the Auror office something to investigate. And then there were the false alarms, which were still so frequent and caused such an uproar that Harry had appointed a special division just to sort them out. The whole wizarding community was understandably still jittery, even five years after the Battle of Hogwarts and Voldemort's defeat, but some had rather overactive imaginations.

The latest scare had been a complete scandal, but the circumstances had, in Hermione's opinion, been extremely suspicious. Typically these false alarms were just a dotty old woman sending a frazzled owl to the Minister because she'd read her tea leaves upside-down. But this had been different. The Auror office had gotten a tip about a dark object that turned up in a thrift shop on Knockturn Alley, so they sent a couple of mid-level aurors to investigate-routine stuff. But when they got there, the shop keeper hadn't the foggiest clue what they were on about, and they couldn't find a trace of dark magic anywhere.

Just as they had decided the tipster must have pulled a prank call and were getting ready to leave again, one of the aurors became suspicious about a tarnished silver candlestick on a shelf that seemed to be glowing. The candlestick turned out to be a portkey-and the auror who spotted it was severely reprimanded later that day by Harry himself for being stupid enough to grab hold of it. It had transported him to the high, wrought iron gates in front of the old, abandoned Malfoy Manor, and he had nearly had a stroke when he landed in the dirt, face to face with a contorted visage in gunmetal finish-a Death Eater's mask.

He had called in reinforcements then, and the mask was taken to the Auror office to be examined, where, it was rumored, the Ministry had uncovered numerous dark curses and enchantments placed upon it. Half the students in the school was a-chatter with every old bit of gossip they'd heard from their parents about the Malfoy family-mostly how they'd never really come back over to the light. The Daily Prophet was writing as if the mask was somehow definitive proof the Malfoys' conversion to the side of the Order was a fraud, but Hermione found the whole thing incredibly suspect.

After all, who was the mysterious tipster? What was the connection with the shop in Knockturn Alley, if any? And who had gone to the trouble of making the portkey? If they knew the location of the object, why not tip off the Auror Office to go straight to Malfoy Manor? And given that the Manor had been empty for years, who would go out of their way to drop a dark artifact-a Death Eater's mask no less-outside its old gates?

Harry had had the good grace to say publicly that the investigation was ongoing, that no details were confirmed, and that he did not for a moment suspect the current Lord Malfoy (known more commonly now as Professor Malfoy) had had anything to do with it, particularly as he had not been near the old Manor-confiscated by the Ministry after the war-in fully five years.

But still the rumor mill churned, and Hermione felt a pang of regret as she thought about what he must be going through. It made her feel doubly anxious, for what had happened on the astronomy tower a week ago and for how she had avoided him since.

She groaned unhappily as she set aside the essays she was supposed to be grading, took a deep breath, and checked the clock over the mantle. Half past seven. Perhaps if she headed to the teachers' lounge now she could find him before he retired to his apartments in the East Wing of the castle. She'd have to face her fears sooner or later, and somehow thinking of the troubles he himself must be going through made her put her own aside. She resolved to swallow her pride and seek him out that very night.


	2. Chapter 2: Proclamations

**Thanks for the follows and reviews! Here's chapter 2. This one is still perfectly PG, but I promise that won't always be the case;)**

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Chapter 2 - Proclamations

Hermione stood up from her chair, suddenly filled with resolve. How could she have been so selfish? She might be embarrassed over their encounter on the astronomy tower, but he'd been having to deal with half the school _and_ the _Daily Prophet_ gossiping openly about him and his family. And from what she could tell, he hadn't been hiding in his rooms like she was... She had to go to him. Tonight.

She swept over to her desk and quickly grabbed her wand, which she used to cast a disillusionment charm over herself. As a teacher, she was perfectly within her rights to wander the corridors as late as she wanted (and it was only half past seven now), but she didn't want to have to answer any questions, fearing it might lessen her resolve.

As she slid out of the portrait hole that served as the entrance to her office and apartments, the portrait of the Roman goddess Minerva swinging back onto the wall with a soft thud, Hermione heard a voice say, " _Quis est?_ "

"It's just me, Minerva, I'll be back later," she responded.

" _Vale, bonum nocte._ "

Hermione took her time heading to the teachers' lounge. Her disillusionment charm was powerful, especially effective in the darkness of the lantern-lit corridors of Hogwarts at night, but she could still be heard. As she tiptoed past the top of the grand staircase, she overheard two Gryffindor fifth-years conferring in a half-whisper.

"Yes, well, Rupert's father works for the Ministry, and he said Potter's been cooped up in his office for a week. Can't come out and say anything against the Malfoys, see?"

"What do you mean? He's head auror, he's supposed to say what's _true_."

"Yeah, but he can't, can he? Not without looking like he's nursing an old schoolboy grudge against Draco Malfoy."

"Why should that matter?"

"Because after the Malfoys came back over to the side of the Order, Draco gave a lot of money to the cause to get people on his side. Stop everyone asking questions about his loyalty, you know? Same as his dad did after the first wizarding war, old Lucius, rest his soul. So now Potter's tongue is tied, especially after Draco donated that new wing at St. Mungo's-"

"That's Professor Malfoy to you," Hermione rasped in her best impersonation of the Bloody Barron, the frightening Slytherin House ghost. The two fifth-years gave a start and quickened their pace, looking round for the source of the sound. Hermione laughed darkly, surprised at her own little prank, and continued on. She wasn't quite sure what had made her stand up for Draco Malfoy, only that in that moment she couldn't bear to hear him disrespected by his own students.

That knowledge unnerved her slightly, and her confidence began to crumble as she remembered, yet again, that moment one week ago atop the highest tower in the castle. It unnerved her that he had seen her at her most vulnerable. Though she wasn't certain exactly what had happened in the moments before she was staring up into Draco Malfoy's worried face, she felt sure that had he not been there to stop her, she would have wandered right off the edge of the tower.

She couldn't remember precisely what she'd been dreaming just before she awoke in his arms, but she had the strangest feeling he'd been present in her dreams. All week she'd had the nagging feeling that she'd shared something she shouldn't have-something private-in that surreal, hazy moment between sleep and awake. The moment between him catching her and her full consciousness returning. She wished she could remember, but she couldn't seem to unfog the memory at all. The whole event was extremely disconcerting, even now.

With all of these thoughts still swirling in her head, she stopped outside the teachers' lounge, removed the disillusionment charm she had placed on herself, and pushed open the door. It was dimly lit-only the crackling fire casting light over the room-but she could see Professors Bones and Finch-Fletchley playing a game of wizard chess at the table in the middle of the room and, in the corner, seated at a writing desk and hunched over a large book, Draco Malfoy.

He looked up as she came inside, but Justin Finch-Fletchley spoke first. "Good evening, Hermione."

"Evening, Justin. Who's winning?"

"Oh, I think Susan's about to force my king to surrender this one, but I won the last two games. Would you like to take my seat for the next game?"

"Oh, no Justin, that's really alright. I'm afraid I've never been much of a chess player. Just came to by to, erm, well, I think I've left a book lying round somewhere, so I'll just go and have a look."

"Right, cheers. And-"

"Checkmate," said Susan Bones.

Hermione laughed as Justin mimed being stabbed through with a sword while Susan's queen advanced on his nervous-looking king, then headed towards the bookcase near where Malfoy was reading. It was dark enough that Susan and Justin, absorbed in their game of chess, didn't notice how he looked up from reading to watch her as she feigned searching the shelves for her missing tome. Nor did they see the way she pushed her hair back from her face so she could see him in her periphery, feeling his eyes on the back of her and suddenly self-conscious of every movement.

"Evening, Professor Granger," he said in a low voice. Hermione turned around, slightly taken aback at the formality of his address, but he was smiling sportively.

"Evening, Draco. I-I didn't see you there."

"Looking for something?" he said, pushing back from the desk and rising from his chair.

"Oh, not really. I mean yes, a book. That is..." She took a steadying breath and stood a little taller. "That is, I was looking for you. Actually."

He didn't say a word but came to join her in front of the bookcase.

"I wanted to thank you," she continued quietly. "The other day... I'm sorry I ran off. If you hadn't been there... Well, thank you, Draco."

He seemed surprised to hear the sound of his name on her lips, but he nodded, if somewhat awkwardly, in acknowledgement of her gratitude. "I'm just pleased to know you're alright. Are you? I haven't seen you all week."

"Oh yes, fine. Just a bit shaken perhaps. My memory of that evening is a little hazy still. I mean, the thing about sleepwalking is while you may appear conscious, you have no awareness of anything happening around you. Which is, of course, how I ended up on the highest tower in the castle in the middle of the night, I can only assume. It's just-well, not remembering-I'm afraid I don't recall anything I might have said or done, you know, before I was fully awake. It's sort of a compromising position to be in, the not knowing. I suppose I feel a bit..."

"Vulnerable?"

"Yes."

"You needn't worry, Granger. I won't tell a soul."

"Won't-? So I did say something, then?"

He stared at her fixedly. "You really don't remember?"

"The first thing I remember is laying on the ground looking up at you. And then running away."

He paused a moment, as if he wanted to choose his words carefully. "You said... Well, it's really neither here nor there, as I assure you I won't speak of it to anyone. I'm very sorry to have put you in such a compromising position, Granger. I'm glad you're alright. I'm afraid I must excuse myself, this room is awfully hot." And then, "Shall I walk you back to your office?"

Hermione was at a loss for words at his abruptness followed by his change in tone. "Oh, yes, thank you."

They left the lounge in a confused silence and headed up the corridor back towards her apartments. The halls were emptier now, as most students were either in the library or in their common rooms after dinner. Still, neither of them said a word. The silence was agonizing in a way Hermione couldn't quite articulate to herself. Now quite convinced she had said something to be embarrassed about in her sleep and bothered over the fact that Malfoy was unwilling to enlighten her, she had fifty things she wanted to say and nothing she felt she could.

They had reached the portrait of Minerva that marked the entrance to her office. She paused, wondering what on earth to say before departing, but Malfoy saved her the trouble of deciding.

"Hermione, I'm sorry. I should have put you at your ease. You didn't say anything you ought to be embarrassed about. And rest assured that whatever did occur is between the two of us. I would never betray your trust."

"You-you wouldn't?"

"Of course not."

"But why?" she blurted out. Of all the ways she had imagined this conversation going, this was totally unexpected. Though it had been a while since they'd been enemies, she'd never considered Draco a friend exactly. Mostly, for the past three years while they'd both been teaching at Hogwarts, they had, by all appearances, had the sort of detached, cordial acquaintanceship where very little of consequence is ever shared. Their conversations until now had mostly pertained to the business of teaching-discussing what to do about an unruly student, asking each other what they thought about the last staff meeting, politely nodding at each other in the corridor between classes.

Of course, there were also those occasional nights when the two of them were the last two left in the teachers' lounge or in the library. Where no more than a few words were ever shared; where they simply shared the silence. There was always something calming about the routine of those nights, a sense of benign continuity. Knowing he was there as she sat and planned her lessons or graded exams... It was familiar, no matter how they had despised each other in their school days.

She couldn't pinpoint the exact moment when she stopped hating him. It certainly hadn't been when he and his family had come over to the good side in the war. Then she had mistrusted him, the memories of his nefarious activities in their sixth year still fresh in her memory. But somehow over time, without her notice, her anger and hatred had evaporated. He had become a familiar presence. And now here he was, standing in the empty corridor outside her office, looking at her with those piercing grey eyes, and telling her he would never betray her trust.

"Why is that?" she asked him, baffled by his sudden sincerity.

"Didn't you know? You're the reason I came back to the light. You're the one who makes me want to be better. I would never betray your trust because I know you could never betray mine. Goodnight, Granger. Sweet dreams."

He turned to leave and then paused, as if debating with himself a moment. "That night on the tower... Just before you woke up. You said, 'Save me, Draco.'"

And with that he disappeared down the dark corridor and into the night.


	3. Chapter 3: Sir Elliot's Tale

**Posting another update a little earlier than I might usually, but I just couldn't stop writing today. Another PG chapter. Be thou patient, for lemon there soon shall be...**

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Chapter 3 - Sir Elliot's Tale

Hermione stood staring at the spot where he had just stood. Her heart was beating like a hummingbird's, and her head felt like it was full of nargles. Her feet were rooted to the spot, as if standing there longer would somehow allow her to make sense of what had just passed.

 _You're the reason I came back to the light. You're the one who makes me want to be better. I would never betray your trust because I know you could never betray mine._

Was he teasing her? It was a cruel joke if he was. But then, he had had a look of utmost sincerity. Perhaps he was serious. But how could it be true? It was too much to process. She couldn't reconcile the words with the man who'd just uttered them.

Could Draco Malfoy really mean that she, Hermione Granger, whom he'd called "Mudblood" more times than she could count, be the reason he risked his life to join the Order? And what did that really mean? Why would he tell her now, years later? Just to see her off balance, just to mess with her head?

Surely he couldn't mean he loved her? And if he did, did she want the love of a man who had reformed not for honor and goodness's sake but for love of a woman? Oh, but what nonsense… Surely she would have noticed if Draco Malfoy had been in love with her. The mental pinch she gave herself for thinking such rubbish for even a second snapped her out of her reverie. But as she turned around to head back inside her office, she saw that Minerva had abandoned her portrait frame.

" _Lumos_ ," Hermione whispered, lighting her wand to illuminate the adjacent frames, thinking she might see the goddess sharing a chalice of wine with the jovial Franciscan monks in the painting at the end of the corridor, or perhaps visiting the neighboring portrait of the poet Ovid to discuss his latest work (a habit of hers which he tolerated with admirable forbearance).

But the goddess was nowhere to be found this evening. "Very well then," said Hermione privately, collecting herself and coming to terms with the idea she wouldn't immediately be getting back into her office tonight. _When in doubt, head to the library,_ and head to the library she did, wand lit and held aloft, in case she found Minerva in a painting or tapestry somewhere along the way.

A number of the inhabitants of the various paintings she passed seemed especially animated tonight. She could hear their furtive chatter as she passed down the corridors. The hustle and bustle seemed to increase as she walked on with witches, wizards, even painted goblins running about between frames to whisper to each other.

Steps from the entrance to the library, Hermione paused, listening. She thought she had overheard the word "murder" from a portly baronet seated in his gilded portrait frame and engaged in a whispered conversation with a pretty young milk maid whom Hermione recognized from a 19th century pastoral woodcutting that hung in girls' bathroom nearby. They both looked up when they heard her footfalls cease.

"Professor Granger," said the baronet importantly with an affected half-bow. The milk maid sank into a deep curtsy.

"Sir Elliot," said Hermione, mirroring his affectation with a small curtsy of her own. "What news?"

"Well, now, that's rather direct. No time to spare for small talk? But, of course, I never stand on such ceremony. Of course you'll have overheard us talking and want the news right away, just so."

"If you don't mind, Sir Elliot."

"Of course, yes, I shall tell you. Well, as I have it from the good Lady Fraser, who so obligingly paid me a visit not a moment ago from her own portrait, there has been quite an occurrence this very evening. She has it from the late Professor Dippet (his family and mine go way back, you know) who had it from Paracelsus (he has a portrait in St. Mungo's as well as Hogwarts, very, very influential man) that tonight there has been discovered," he paused for effect. "A murder," he finished dramatically, seeming in no particular rush to finish his story and relinquish his position as the holder of such fascinating information.

"Tonight? Where? Who was murdered? How much do you know?" Hermione asked quickly.

"My dear young professor, in such a rush to know all. When you come to be my age, you'll see that it does no good to hurry such matters as these. After all, dead an hour or dead a day scarcely makes a difference to the deceased! But yes, as you request… Paracelsus overheard this information from the aurors who accompanied the departed man's wife into St. Mungo's. She'd had quite a shock, of course, poor dear, and they thought it best to keep an eye on her, especially at her advanced age. You see, she and her husband had but only just ceased drinking the elixir every moon cycle. Had he not been murdered, old age would have claimed his life within the month, no doubt."

"The elixir?" asked Hermione. "You don't mean the Elixir of Life?"

"Quite so, my dear. It was Nicolas and Perenelle who discovered how to make the thing in the first place: the philosopher's stone! That was what he-who-must-not-be-named was after eleven years ago inside this very castle, of course I don't have to tell you about that, my dear."

"Flamel... Nicolas Flamel was… murdered? Tonight? With but a month left to live?"

"Well, it's difficult to be certain about his expected time for death had he lived, but at 676 years old and without the Elixir… But yes, he was murdered this very night. Paracelsus couldn't be certain, but he thought he overheard the aurors saying that Perenelle found him in his potions laboratory after dinner, quite dead and wearing a grotesque silver mask, which gave her quite a scare." The milk maid's eyes grew wide and she let out a whimper. Sir Elliot continued, "Quite so, Fanny, very frightening for her, as you can imagine. Potions spilled over every surface and broken glass everywhere; he must have put up quite a good fight, old Nicolas-"

"A silver mask?" Hermione's eyes narrowed in concentration, and her mind began to whir. Why did that sound so familiar?

"Yes, like one of those dreadful Death Eater masks he-who-must-not-be-named had his followers going round in, dreadful dark crowd-"

Hermione gasped, recognition hitting her like a steam train. "Merlin's beard!"

"Professor! Such an unladylike expression, I confess myself quite shocked."

"I'm very sorry, Sir Elliot, I can't stay to explain, I've got to go! Thanks for everything," Hermione said in a rush. Things had suddenly become very clear, and she hurtled off down the corridor, knowing exactly where she needed to go. She nearly collided with a startled Professor Flitwick, who called after her, but she couldn't stop. She had to find him before they did.

At the entrance to the East Wing she ran right through the ghost of Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, shuddering from the chill and hastily calling, "Sorry, Nick!" over her shoulder as she ran on. She stopped, panting, next to a bronze bust of the Tudor poet Sir Thomas Wyatt, which opened its metallic eyes and yawned.

"Verse?"

Hermione didn't know which verse he was requesting, though clearly this was his version of a password. After a moment's thought, she selected a few lines from one of his own poems, hoping that even if it wasn't the password he sought, he might appreciate the nod to his talents and be amenable to letting her in.

" _I find no peace, and all my war is done/ I fear and hope. I burn and freeze like ice/ I fly above the wind, yet can I not arise/ And nought I have, and all the world I season."_

The bust was quiet for a moment, and then his lips curled up into a wry smile. "Observant girl, yes, that will do." And with that the bust and the pillar it sat on sprang aside to reveal a dark, narrow passageway behind, which Hermione hurried through. It came out into a dark stone room with high windows and moonlight pouring through, silhouetting the figure of a tall, slim man in billowing robes staring out at the sky.

"Draco," she said.

He turned around and crossed the room to her in three long strides, and taking both her hands in his, said urgently, "They're coming."


	4. Chapter 4: The Warning

**Alright, my lovely readers... Buckle up for a bit of an emotional roller coaster in this chapter. Fair warning: This is where it finally gets lemony. Mature themes contained herein include alcohol consumption, potentially frightening imagery, sexual encounters, and possible triggers pertaining to dubious consent. I do hope you enjoy! And thank you so much for the continued reviews. I know I've kept you waiting for the good stuff, and I very much appreciate your patience :)**

 **Update as of 1/27/16 - It might be a little longer this time before my next update, for which I apologize. I am spending the weekend penning a guest editorial for my alma mater's newspaper on an issue I care deeply about. If it was not so urgent, I would not leave you all hanging. Please forgive me, and I hope you enjoy chapter 4!**

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Chapter 4: The Warning

"What? Who's coming?"

"The Ministry. I've already had an owl. You must go, they can't see you here," said Draco, trying to pull her back towards the door. She stood her ground stubbornly, wanting answers.

"The Ministry? But you didn't…?"

"Of course I didn't."

Hermione breathed a barely audible sigh of relief. "They're coming here to question you?"

Draco nodded.

"Well, good, then I can tell them I was with you this evening. You were sitting in the teachers' lounge calmly reading a book, there's no way you'd just snuck back into school from…"

"No." he said firmly.

"What?"

"You're not risking your reputation for me. You shouldn't have come here. Please just go, I can handle this on my own."

"My reputation? That's rich!" she laughed angrily. He seemed taken aback by her exclamation and stopped trying to pull her to the doorway, but he didn't let go of her hands.

Hermione continued, "Draco Malfoy, one week ago you followed me to the astronomy tower (me in my nighty, I might add) and eavesdropped on my subconscious dreams. Not half an hour ago you confessed that I'm the reason you defected from the Death Eaters. Now you're worried about my reputation?"

He seemed to soften at that a little. "I just don't want you to get caught up in all this. If you won't go, at least let me hide you somewhere. As soon as they're gone, we can talk. I feel I owe you an explanation."

She nodded reluctantly and allowed him to lead her to one side of the room where a large tapestry hung. It depicted a young woman in a white dress, lying in a field of flowers and petting a white unicorn. _Innocence._ As she stared at the tapestry, Draco took out his wand, muttered something inaudible, and tapped one of the large stones in the wall next to the tapestry. Nothing appeared to have happened, but when he pulled back the tapestry from the wall and pushed Hermione out of sight behind it, she realized it concealed the entry way to a secret chamber off the room.

As soon as she'd passed through it, the stone wall resealed itself behind her. She could see no other exit... no doors, no windows. She was going to have to wait for him to come back and let her out. Not that she had any intention of running away. She couldn't work out what she thought of Draco Malfoy at the moment, but if nothing else her curiosity ensured she wouldn't be running off before she got a fuller explanation of all he had said that evening.

She began to explore the room, which seemed like it didn't get much use. There was a light layer of dust on all the surfaces, and it was chilly, as if the fireplace hadn't been lit in quite some time. The furniture was sparse: a large armoire, an empty vanity, and an old velvet love seat with brass studs desperately in need of polishing. Hermione noticed four circular scratch marks in the wood floor, as if a bed had once stood in the center of the room.

She wandered over to the vanity and gazed at herself in the mirror a moment. Her run on the way to Malfoy's office had done nothing positive for her hair, but her cheeks were pleasantly flushed and her eyes wide and bright. As she looked at her reflection, she noticed a glimmer of something bright in the dark behind her. She spun around, startled, and noticed that the right-hand door of the armoire, directly behind her, was open just a crack. She took out her wand, pointed it at the door and whispered, " _Apertum._ "

The door burst open, revealing a rack of the most beautiful dresses Hermione had ever seen. Light pink China silks, deep green velvets, and the shimmering gold gown that had caught her eye in the mirror. They were breathtaking. But she couldn't think why Malfoy would have an armoire full of expensive gowns in a secret chamber off his office. None of it made sense.

She walked over to the armoire and opened up the other door to reveal the rest of the clothes rack. There was a cloak of grey silk and several more gowns. But it was the inside of the door itself that held the most interest for her. There, hanging from silver wire attached to the top of the door, was a silver frame shaped in an oval, which contained a black and white photograph of a stunning young woman with thick dark hair and cunning dark eyes.

As Hermione stared at her, she giggled and waved flirtatiously. She took out a fan and hid the bottom half of her face, blinking innocently and seeming to beckon Hermione towards her. As Hermione brought her face closer to the photograph in the semi-darkness of the room, the woman's eyes darkened. She glared dangerously back from out of her frame, momentarily even more beautiful than before, and then her whole visage contorted like melting wax into a wild, silent screech, teeth bared, eyes like flames. Hermione jumped backward. Her heart was pounding, her vision cloudy, and she was suddenly desperate to escape from this room with no doors or windows.

As she moved around the walls trying to feel for any sort of opening, her breath came in ragged gasps that soon transformed into frustrated sobs. _How dare he lock her in here? When would he come back? How was she ever going to get out?_

Her panic finally crested as she caught site of the photograph inside the wardrobe once more. The woman had disappeared from her portrait, but Hermione collapsed in a panicked heap on the floor.

* * *

"Hermione?"

Someone was gently rousing her. She opened her eyes to see Draco Malfoy's face hovering over hers.

"Draco."

"Hermione, I'm so sorry."

"The Ministry-"

"They're gone."

She sighed. "Then please-please get me out of this room."

He scooped her up in his arms and carried her out, and she buried her face in his chest as if by instinct. A minute later he deposited her on a soft four-poster bed with green and silver hangings and sat down beside her. She immediately felt safer, and the memory of the portrait in the hidden room had already begun to fade, like a bad dream. She tried to sit up, but her head was pounding. She groaned and lay back down again.

"Water," she said.

"Of course. Here." And he drew up a goblet from thin air, filled it with clear water from the tip of his wand, and handed it to her to drink.

"Thank you," she said after gulping it down.

"More?" he asked. "Or perhaps something a little stronger?"

"You know, I wouldn't object to something that might dull this ghastly headache."

Malfoy drew his wand again. This time he conjured two port glasses and filled them with a rich amber-colored liquid. It was true that Hermione's head was aching, but she also felt a drink might help calm the nervousness she felt at being in Draco Malfoy's bedroom.

Hermione took a sip of her drink. It was smooth and warming, and immediately her world felt brighter. She felt her confidence coming back. The mad portrait was all but forgotten. Perhaps she had simply dreamed it.

Malfoy was watching her with an unreadable expression on his face, as if waiting for her to speak.

"So," she began.

"So."

"You've rescued me from certain death, confessed your true feelings, and then locked me in a room. What _do_ you have to say for yourself?"

She was taken aback when he began to laugh in earnest, an open, honest sort of laughter. Mildly affronted but lost for words, she stared at him open-mouthed and then began to laugh as well, for lack of any other response.

"I'm sorry," he panted, "it's just you gave such a good impression of McGonagall just then." And then in a high-pitched imitation of her voice, "What _do_ you have to say for yourself?"

The two of them dissolved into fits of giggles then, and as they came up for air at long last, Malfoy took their glasses and refilled them. He handed hers back with a mock half-bow. "Cheers," he said, and they both clinked glasses and threw back their drinks in one go.

"Draco Malfoy, are you attempting to get me drunk?" she said, purposefully doing her best McGonagall this time, and they both dissolved into hysterical laughter again.

As their laughter finally subsided, it began to dawn on Hermione again that she was sitting on Draco Malfoy's bed, after dark, and well on her way to tipsy now. She didn't feel unsafe-in fact, it was odd how comfortable she felt being alone with him. But the whole evening was so out of the ordinary, and the slight buzz that came with downing smooth Scotch whiskey made it feel positively surreal. She kept having to pinch herself-mentally and physically-to make sure she wasn't dreaming.

She also noted that her headache had subsided. Laughter was good medicine after all, and the only person who had made her laugh like that in the past three years was Hagrid. That was different, though. With Hagrid, it was a shared nostalgia for simpler days. Underneath the laughter, there was sadness, for innocence lost and friends far away.

But this was something else entirely. She felt light and free for the first time since before the war. She suspected Malfoy was experiencing much the same feeling.

"Hermione…" He reached for her hand. She had had a million questions vying for attention at the back of her mind, but she found she didn't much care anymore. She was too busy basking in her newfound freedom and too disoriented by the surreal nature of the situation she currently found herself in. She let him take her hand and bring it up to his lips to kiss her wrist, as if she was watching a scene play out on stage, one she had no control over.

When she didn't protest to the intimate gesture, he turned her hand over and kissed the inside of her palm as well, tenderly but hungrily too. Hermione's heart beat faster and her limbs felt light like she was floating in saltwater. She couldn't think, she couldn't speak, could barely swallow.

"Hermione…" he said again, but it seemed words were failing him too. She could see in his eyes how much he wanted to say, but she put a finger over his lips, not wanting either of them to break the spell. Suddenly, as though her gesture had triggered a release inside him, he took her face in both his hands and kissed her full on the lips, hungrily, desperately.

And then she was kissing back, and they were locked in a desperate embrace, clinging to each other as if for survival, collapsing back onto the bed and rolling this way and that so that one was on top and then the other, wrestling for dominance, never breaking their kiss.

Grabbing hold of her shoulders and rolling her underneath him, he broke away to look her in the eyes, hands still on her shoulders, pinning her beneath him. A moment later her whole body was pinned under his and they were once again locked in a kiss, his tongue exploring her mouth, the insides of her cheeks, and hers answering the call, tongue on tongue, hot lips on hot lips, bodies pressed together like two animals locked in battle.

Everything she had ever felt for Draco Malfoy over the years-intense dislike, suspicion, annoyance, confusion, respect-seemed to combine and release in a fierce, heady lust. Fleetingly, she thought that the only thing she'd _never_ felt for Draco Malfoy was indifference, but then he broke away from her lips and began to peck soft kisses at her neck, and everything else was driven from her mind.

They were mad for each other that night, consumed by the wild desire to meld their two bodies into one, as if they'd both just discovered human contact and were now hopelessly addicted to the feeling of flesh on flesh.

When it was no longer enough just to snog furiously, they began to tear off each other's clothes. Hermione furiously worked the buttons on his robes while Draco undid the laces on the back of her own. He was quicker and more determined and had managed to strip her down to her white corset and bloomers before she'd finished unbuttoning the front of his robes. He grinned wickedly and pushed up one leg of her bloomer shorts to unfasten her stocking from its garter.

"That's not fair at all, you're still fully dressed!" she whined. It seemed to spark a change in his demeanor. He seemed much calmer now, suddenly in full control of himself.

"Not fair, Professor Granger? I beg your pardon, but as this is my classroom, I think I shall be the one to decide what's not fair. And what I think is that it's not fair at all for you to tease me for twelve years with that pert little body, only to deny me what I've long desired by interrupting me."

Hermione gaped at him, open-mouthed.

"Now, hold still," he continued, "or I shall have to do this by magic and ruin your little undergarments by vanishing them."

He had said it with the utmost seriousness, and yet his face belied such tenderness that she had to hold back a giggle. He was simultaneously endearing and intimidating, and she dared not laugh, as much as she wanted to. Instead, she stayed right where she was as he removed her stockings, one leg at a time, unbuckling them from her garters, then pulled down the garters themselves, and then slowly pulled off her bloomers, leaving her completely bare and exposed from the hips down.

Then he leaned over her and undid the clasps on the front of her corset, one by one until it was completely open, slid the straps off her shoulders, and tossed it aside. She was completely bare, feeling rather at a disadvantage but meeting his gaze with assuredness. As he gazed down at her naked body, she watched his serious expression falter. He seemed on the verge of losing control again, like he wanted to grab hold of her and begin snogging her furiously once more.

But he didn't. He just quietly stared, eyes moving over her curves and making her squirm with impatience.

"What are you doing?" she whispered.

"Something I've been dying to do for the last twelve years," he said. And with that he did grab hold of her again, locking his lips onto her and touching every part of her he could, desperately, furiously, his hands winding up into her hair and pulling her head back to expose her neck, then planting kisses from just below her earlobe all the way down her neck to her collar bone and continuing the trail past her breastplate and down to her stomach.

Lost in their moment of ecstasy, it took Hermione a moment to register the knock upon the bedroom door or why Draco had suddenly sprung out of bed, wand in hand and pointed at the entrance to the bedroom. It was like being woken, startled, from a beautiful dream. She instinctively drew the bedsheets around herself and reached for her own wand on the table.

"Get behind me. Keep your wand out," Draco whispered.

Not normally one to cower behind the front lines but feeling quite vulnerable in her state of undress, Hermione obeyed, wand at the ready.

" _Apertum,_ " he said, pointing his wand at the door. It swung open, but there was no one there. All she could see was the darkness of the sitting room beyond. "Stay there," he said to her.

But Hermione had had enough of being left along in unfamiliar rooms for one evening. She followed him out of the door and into the sitting area. It was empty, but there was light flickering in the doorway to Draco's office beyond it and a faint rumbling, whooshing sound. He understood before she did and suddenly sprinted into the office.

Hermione ran quickly after him in time to see the tapestry of the girl and unicorn go completely up in flames. The heat from the fire burned her eyes and face, the noise of the inferno was deafening, and the tapestry curled and writhed grotesquely in the flames.

" _Aguamenti,_ " they shouted in unison, but there was little to be done. The jets of water from their wands were hardly sufficient to suffocate the flames, and the tapestry was already a lost cause. Hermione gasped as the wooden rod from which it was hanging gave way and detached from the wall on one side, hitting an upholstered armchair as it fell, which caught fire as well.

Hermione ran to the chair and pointed her wand there instead, desperate to stem the progress of the flames before the rug caught and destroyed the whole room. She managed to put out the flames on the chair but got too close to the wooden rod now burning on the stone floor, and the bedsheets wrapped around her caught fire.

Draco saw before she did and threw himself onto her, suffocating the flames with his body. From the floor, they both looked up at the burning tapestry, now almost completely gone and folded up at an odd angle from the way its hanging rod had fallen down on one side. The unicorn was rearing up in terror, but the young girl stood still, seeming to look directly at Hermione as she tilted her head back and fell gently back into the flames.

A moment later, the tapestry was nothing but smoldering embers, and the girl and unicorn were gone. Draco put out the last of the embers with water from his wand, but the fire had burned itself out on the stone. Hermione still stared in shock at where the young girl had been moments before. The room was quiet now.

"Hermione. Perhaps you'd better go back to your office tonight. Someone's been in here, and I have reason to believe they might be coming back."


End file.
